This Angel in Hell
by Josephine de Chagny
Summary: Christine was not allowed her freedom after she unmasked the Phantom after motn. She finds herself feeling quite like a caged bird. Rating for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

It had been a month since she'd torn the mask away from his face. A month she had spent crying herself to sleep each night in the bedroom that her tutor had set up for her in his home beneath the opera house. A month spent attending rehearsals and performances and returning to the darkness below.

She hadn't seen him unmasked in a month, but she couldn't get the sight of his horrid face to leave her mind. She could've traced the strange contours of bone and flesh by memory if asked.

As she hurried from the stage to her dressing room, she stopped for only a few moments when her friends would congratulate her on her performance.

"Christine, where have you been hiding? It's been weeks since I've seen you!" Meg cried, flinging her arms around her friend as she tried to retreat into her dressing room. She knew that her teacher, the man she once thought to be an angel of music, would be angry if she kept him waiting.

"Meg, I really must get changed, I've got dinner plans this evening. I'll talk to you tomorrow during rehearsals," Christine said quickly, her voice lacking emotion as she pushed her friend away. The last thing Christine saw before the door shut completely was Meg's pouting lower lip. Oh, how Christine's heart ached to be with her friend and to tell her the truth, that she was being held captive!

"The vicomte came to the performance this evening," her tutor's disembodied voice drifted through the mirror as Christine pulled the pins out of her hair, letting it cascade across her shoulders and chest in thick brown curls. She sighed deeply at the immediate reminder that she was not alone.

"Oh?" she asked, feigning disinterest. In truth, she had noticed the Vicomte de Chagny during the intermission. He'd come backstage and had even been looking for her, but she had hidden away in Carlotta's dressing room. She hoped that nobody ever found out that she'd gone into the diva's dressing room, but she'd had no choice! Had the Phantom seen her with him…

"He looked most displeased when he couldn't find you backstage."

"Well that's too bad," Christine said, shaking her head and running her hands through her hair to make sure she got all the pins out. As she worked to wipe her stage makeup off, she heard the subtle _click_ of her full-length mirror opening. Moments later, she felt a cold hand against her shoulder. She fought the shudder that made her way through her body at his touch.

She forced herself to look up at him, over her shoulder. He stood a full head taller than her when she wore tall heels, and he was thin and bony with yellow-tinged skin. He smelled musty, and he was always quite cold to the touch.

Christine Daae had a pleasantly pink complexion that had already been quite pale before she'd been imprisoned in the catacombs. Now her skin verged on translucent! Still, she somehow managed to keep a cheery demeanor, her blue eyes sparkling with the same brilliance they had when she was a child and her world was still somewhat happy.

"You were wonderful," he said after a moment, and then his grip on her shoulder tightened, "But there is always room for improvement."

As Christine opened her mouth to reply, she was interrupted by a quiet knocking at her door. As she stood, she found her tutor had vanished, the mirror shut tight, as though it had never been opened. She wished she knew how he could move with such speed.

"Who's there?" she called.

"Little Lotte, have you been avoiding me?" the vicomte's voice both relieved and frightened her. She knew that she was being watched carefully as she opened the door, just a crack. She didn't want to give either man the wrong idea.

"Raoul," she said, "I really- I'm quite busy this evening, can we talk some other time?" She looked up at him with pleading eyes as he tried to push the door open further, but she stood firm.

"Christine?" he asked, "But-"

"You really must go, Raoul," she said, pushing the door shut with all her might. She locked it, too, to ensure that he wouldn't try to barge in. Oh, how she wanted to take his hand and run, just run and forget the opera house and the Opera Ghost! As she turned around again, she heard that same small _click_ and she was not alone. One long-fingered, bony hand was extended to her, and with a shaking hand and a resigned sigh, she placed her hand into it and allowed herself to be led down to her home and her prison.


	2. Chapter 2

That night Christine felt particularly uneasy about what was happening around her. No sooner had Erik helped her from the boat had she fled for her bedroom, closing and locking the door behind her. She knew that he could still get in if he so chose, that the lock was not much more than a formality, but it made her feel better to know that it would take him at least the added turn of a key to get in near her.

"Christine?" he asked, knocking quietly on her door, "I-" She turned and looked at the door as he hesitated.

"I should have supper ready shortly. Please do not hide away in your bedroom again this evening. After such a spirited performance this evening you really should eat something." Christine sighed. She tried to avoid taking meals with him. It was strange to eat with a man wearing a mask, but she knew it would be stranger still if he took it off.

When she did not answer, she assumed he walked away, and so she turned back to face her wardrobe. She wore a simple dressing gown over a sparkling corset and her underclothes, and if she was going to do anything that was the first thing that would have to change.

She sat at the aging white vanity in the corner and pulled her hair back with a length of pale pink ribbon before she let the dressing gown fall from her shoulders so she could undo her corset.

As she freed herself from the loose binds of the corset, she heard another gentle knock at the door. "Christine?" he called again, "Are you feeling all right? You haven't made a peep since you arrived home."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, "I've… I've just got a headache. A little rest will do me some good."

"Oh, my poor Christine," the man murmured, "I shall be just outside should you need me. Is there anything I can get for you?"

"No, thank you."

This time she was certain he lingered at the door after she dismissed him, but she couldn't tell him to leave, not in his own house. So she did what she could, and she got dressed for dinner. She chose a loose green dress that reminded her of something she'd worn one summer when she'd first come to the opera house. It was light and airy, which meant she would be subject to the chill of the air down in the cellars where she now lived, but it also required less effort to put on.

The less effort, the better, she figured. Once dressed, she let her hair fall in loose curls down her back and over her shoulders. She debated how it fell for a moment before she took a few pins from one of the drawers in the vanity and pulled some of it back so it didn't fall quite so intimately around her face.

She cleaned her face more thoroughly and dried herself with a plush towel, relishing its softness for a moment. She had to wonder how long he'd been keeping this room for her. Had he purchased that towel in a set? How long had he been collecting things, setting them aside for something like this to occur?

She shook her head, pushing the thoughts from her mind. She didn't want to think about it. The more she thought about it, the higher the fear rose in her chest, the closer to her mouth came the scream that had been willing itself upward for that entire month. She couldn't bring herself to loose it for she knew it would do her no good.

Christine sat at the foot of her bed, plush and soft and inviting with its multitude of down quilts and pillows, but she knew she should put on a good show and at least try to take supper with her captor and companion. Certainly he wouldn't mind if she took a short nap, however. She found herself sinking back against the mattress, and the next thing she was aware of was the tiny _click_ of her door unlocking.

"Christine?" His voice was dripping with worry. How many times had he called for her? She sat up, holding her head. _Now_ she had a headache.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Erik was worried that you may have fallen and hurt yourself," he said, kneeling before her so he was on her level. She looked down at him, confused for a moment before it clicked. She realized she had never even thought to ask him if he had a name. Christine blushed at this realization, her cheeks growing hot with embarrassment.

"Erik, why- why didn't you ever tell me that was your name?" she asked.

"I rather liked it when you believed me to be an angel. I didn't want your fantasy to end." She shuddered involuntarily as she remembered the moment that fantasy had been shattered. What a fool she had been! She stood on shaky feet as she grew ever more disturbed by the way that he studied her face.

Erik flew to his feet and carefully took her by the arm to stabilize her. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "I didn't mean to intrude. Supper is ready, if you feel up to eating." She nodded silently, and he led her out of the room, slowly letting go of her arm. The place where his hand had contacted her bare flesh seemed to burn in the absence of his skin.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Hey, thank you so much for following/reviewing/favoriting! I'm hoping to update this story about 1-2 times per week, usually 1-3 chapters at a time. **

* * *

After supper, Christine felt far better than she had upon her arrival. The hour was growing late, but she insisted that Erik sing with her. "Just one song, please?" she begged. She felt so full of life and energy, she couldn't explain it. She hadn't felt this good in the month she'd been there.

"You should rest your voice, you sang the lead tonight," her former angel protested, but he also took his seat at his organ. There was no way he'd refuse her. She warmed her voice up and was pleased with the smile this brought from her tutor. "Ever careful of your instrument," he said, "a quality I'm glad I didn't have to teach you."

"Well, if I ever want to improve, I have to remember to warm up every time," she replied, smiling as she met his eyes.

She was surprised at his song choices. While she had begged and pleaded and wheedled for just _one_ song, they sang three. As she held the final note of the final song that he had chosen for the evening, she could feel his eyes on her. She choked, the note faltered, and she ended up coughing and sputtering. Erik flew from his seat to help her.

"Christine!" he cried, "Oh, Erik is a fool for pushing you too hard."

"No," she coughed, "Erik no, I'm fine, I don't know what happened. Perhaps some water would help?"

He nodded once and disappeared from her side, reappearing after only a moment with a glass of water. She sipped it slowly, and though she was still coughing it wasn't as urgent. She could actually breathe now. "Thank you," she said after taking a few shaky breaths.

"Are you certain you're all right?" he asked. She nodded, but when he offered his arm she leaned heavily against him. "I think that you should rest. I will send word that you will not be at rehearsals tomorrow."

"Oh Erik, no. I must attend-"

"I insist! You may have strained something. A day of rest will do you good and they will have to deal with your absence." He caught her eye and it frightened her how serious he was. She dared not press the matter. "It is terribly late. Forgive your wretched Erik for keeping you up so late!"

Christine wasn't particularly tired, but she was glad for the excuse to be alone again. She locked her door, praying that he wouldn't exercise his ability to come barging in again, though she was fairly certain that he watched her sleep every night. She found her mind returning to Raoul. He'd grown so much since they'd been children together and he'd retrieved her red scarf from the sea, yet still he had that kind and gentle spirit that had drawn her to him.

How she longed to go back above ground. She yearned for freedom. Sure, life with the Opera Ghost wasn't particularly _terrible_, but she found herself quite lonely while longing to be alone. As she finally changed into a nightdress, she could hear Erik singing softly. She couldn't make out the words, but the tune sounded almost happy. Hopeful, even. She stood near her door for a long minute, straining her ears to hear every note as he sang.

She found herself growing quite sleepy as she listened, and as she crawled into her bed the music seemed to follow her. Perhaps Erik knew- of _course_ he knew, she corrected herself- that she was listening and was purposely throwing his voice for her. Bu why would he continue to be infuriating and not allow her to hear _what _he was singing?

It seemed that she fell asleep the second her head made contact with her pillow, and her mind was filled with wild and mischievous dreams. Through them all she seemed haunted by a man with no face. She shuddered awake as her mind ascribed this man a name. Erik.


	4. Chapter 4

After waking, adrenaline fueled, at the discovery that she could not even escape the deformed man in her _dreams_, Christine paced her room for hours, only beginning to relax again as Erik began playing the violin. She figured it must be near dawn, because she'd woken to that very same sound many mornings. She wondered, however, if that day he played it to lull her back to sleep? The tune seemed different, slower, almost a lullaby.

Almost reluctantly, she climbed back into bed. She fell asleep shortly after.

When she woke again, she found herself alone in Erik's home. He slid a note under her door, he'd gone to see about some business and wouldn't be gone for long. She wasn't to try to leave. _As if I'd know where I was going without his help,_ she thought, rolling her eyes.

She ate and bathed, going about her morning as she did most mornings. For some reason, the dank, underground home felt even colder than normal that day. As she stepped out of the ornate bathtub in her bathroom- how long had he been planning to take her that he actually had time to put in a bathroom?- she shivered. She was thankful that the towels that he provided her with were soft and fluffy, and she wrapped her slim form with one before wrapping herself up in a white, lacy dressing gown.

She scurried from the bathroom into her bedroom, relieved when she heard continued silence out in the main of the home. Sitting at her vanity, she began the long task of brushing out her curls.

It was as she finished dressing herself for the day and was tying her hair back in a bow that she heard Erik return. She glanced back at the mirror to see how she looked as she called out for him. "Erik? Is that you?"

As though it _could _be anyone else. Who else but the Opera Ghost would know how to navigate the catacombs to that damp, cold house on the lake. It was slightly troubling that she didn't receive an immediate response. Normally, she could make even the smallest sound and he would be at her door, knocking and begging to know if anything was the matter. "Erik?' she called again.

_Strange_, she thought as she stood up, _ I was certain that I heard him return. _Christine stood and crossed the room to the door. She made certain that it was locked before she pressed her ear to the wood, listening intently for any sign of who or what she had heard.

For many long moments, she heard nothing but silence. Finally, she decided that she'd imagined hearing him come in after all and she went back to fixing her hair for the day.

As she sat back at her vanity, however, she heard the lock on her door click. In the mirror, she could see the doorknob slowly turning.

"Erik?" She called again, her voice shaking, her eyes wide.


	5. Chapter 5

The door swung open, revealing someone smaller and less intimidating than Erik had ever proven to be, even as skeletal as he was. Christine whipped around to face the door, a gasp escaping her lips. "Raoul!" she cried. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she raced across the room to fling her arms around him- but before she reached him he was pulled out of her reach.

"Look, Christine, look who I found sneaking around my tunnels," Erik said coolly. It was then that Christine noticed the rope that bound Raoul's neck, the rope which Erik held the end of. Every so often he yanked on it, making the poor vicomte cough and claw at the rope. Christine's eyes bulged out of their sockets as she took in the scene unfolding before her.

"Let him go!" she cried, "Please, you're hurting him!"

"And why should I?" Erik asked, raising his visible eyebrow, "He was down here, unwanted. Were I not as hasty as I was he might very well have stumbled upon my home and _you_ and then what would've happened? You'd have become hopelessly lost and I'd have had to come and save you."

"He's done nothing wrong," Christine pleaded, "please, he's suffocating! Erik, please, he was just worried for me!"

"How am I to know that you didn't signal for him to come and find you here?" Erik asked, pulling the rope ever tighter as the vicomte gasped and clawed at his throat. His eyes were beginning to roll back in his head, his lips turning quite blue. He reached out weakly for Christine, and she hesitated, but took his hand between both of hers.

"Erik, _please_." She couldn't bear to watch any longer. "What must I do to prove to you that I didn't ask him to come and find me? What must I say for you to let him live?"

The rope went slack- just a bit, just enough that Raoul could claw it looser and inhale a few, panicked breathes- as Erik contemplated her words.

"Christine," Raoul rasped, "Christine, don't do anything he says-"

"Silence, you," Erik said, pulling the rope tight again. Raoul cried out as his throat was once again constricted. "I've come to a fair trade. For his life, Christine, you will remain with me for the rest of your days as my wife. You and I shall wed and move far from this opera house, where your precious _still-living_ vicomte will never find us."

"_No_," Christine murmured, horrified. She covered her mouth with her hands and she wept. "You can't expect me to-"

"I would be particularly careful of how you speak, Christine," Erik hissed, pulling the rope tighter still. Christine watched as Raoul's body began to sag against the lasso round his neck. His eyes were closing, he was no longer struggling as hard. She couldn't let Erik kill him this way. She just couldn't!

"I-" she stammered, closing her eyes tightly, "I accept your terms now _release him_!"

Immediately, the rope went slack and Raoul collapsed forward, barely able to push his arms out in front of him so he wouldn't break his face as he fell. Before Christine could run to him to help him, Erik was by her side, one hand holding her at the waist, the other working to push her hair out of her face.

"You will be my wife," he repeated, his amber eyes sparkling even in the dim lamplight. His face was so close now, and she knew that beneath the mask was a face she never wanted to look upon again, but now she would have no choice. He seemed to be waiting for her to reply somehow, and all she could manage was a feeble nod as her resolve faded. Her heart was pounding out of her chest. _What have I agreed to?_ _I can't marry him,_ she thought.

"Christine, _no_," Raoul gasped after a long minute of panting and wheezing as he caught his breath. Erik's boot came into contact with the vicomte's side and the young man yelped in pain. Christine turned to help him, but Erik's hand caught hers and she was forced to look back into his eyes, which now were lit with the flames of anger.

"You must change," he said, leading her over to her vanity, where he had her sit while he bound the vicomte's hands behind his back. He didn't bother to remove the lasso from the man's neck. _Let it be a visual reminder to her_, he thought, _of her lover's fate should she refuse me_.


	6. Chapter 6

While Christine changed into the wedding dress he had picked out for her, that he had been keeping safe _just in case_ for years, Erik roughly brought the vicomte out by his organ and sat him on the floor.

"You can't do this. It's not legal, it's not right!" Raoul protested as Erik tidied the room, preparing it for the time that was so rapidly approaching, when he would exchange vows with the woman he loved. And maybe, just maybe, far ahead in the future, she would love him back.

"The legality of it matters not, vicomte," Erik replied as he fixed himself up in the mirror, "God shall hear our vows, as will _you_, our witness. And once we are married, once we are packed and on our way, I will leave you in Christine's old dressing room. Someone will find you there eventually."

"She's only doing this because you're forcing her to," Raoul spat. Erik paused for a moment as he adjusted his bow tie before he turned and gave a small smirk.

"I think it's a little different than that," he replied after a moment, "I think it's far simpler, and you don't want to make the connection because it tears you up inside, knowing what she's doing, what she's _sacrificing_ and for whom." The pain and realization that Erik saw in the other man's eyes made his smile widen and his eyes sparkled with delight. "No, you can't stand to think of this as Christine giving herself up to save _you_, can you monsieur le vicomte? I'm coercing her, you're not involved at all. Forever she shall be the princess and martyr, you the noble prince, and I the evil monster who has stolen the fair princess away."

Christine stared at herself in the mirror, dressed all in white. The skirts of her wedding gown were intricately beaded, the bodice woven of silk and lace. She looked beautiful, but there was something missing. As she clipped the veil into her hair, she realized what it was. Joy. A woman wearing such a work of art as that dress should've been beaming, her heart should've been soaring! Instead, Christine stood staring into her own dead eyes, her cheeks puffy and red from crying.

She tried to look the part of the blushing bride anxious for her wedding day, but now it was so wrong. _So_ wrong. She'd never imagined that she'd have to marry a monstrous beast in order to save the life of the man she loved.

She inhaled a shaky breath as she draped the sheer fabric of the veil over her face. The woman she saw in the mirror looked perfect, but Christine felt positively ill.

There was a quiet but firm knock at the door, and as Christine turned to ask who was there, Erik's voice boomed through the door, "I don't mean to rush you, Christine, but we do have quite the night of traveling ahead of us, so if you could hurry up-" As he spoke, she walked over and opened the door, avoiding looking him directly in the eye. "Oh-" Erik's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of her.

And what a sight she was! Every inch of fabric that adorned her body seemed to have been hand-picked specifically to cover _her_. She was positively radiant- except for where it counted the most. Even through the smile she wore, the smile she _forced_, Erik was acutely aware of her emotions.

"You are beautiful," he said, "but you'd be even more so if you would only smile."

"How can I smile when I'm being forced to do something I don't want to do?" Christine snapped, finally raising her eyes to meet his. He had been expecting the tears, but not the fire of rebellion he saw in her eyes. _Oh_, he thought, _so she plans on putting up a fight. Should make this interesting._


	7. Chapter 7

Erik all but dragged Christine out to where Raoul sat waiting, unable to move from where Erik had placed him. When he came into her line of vision, she tore herself away from Erik's grasp and ran to the younger man. "Raoul!" she cried, "Raoul, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Christine, don't-"

"I have to," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his, as intimate a gesture as the situation allowed for, "I can't go on if I'm the cause of your death."

"Christine, no, please," Raoul begged her. As she cupped the man's face in her hands and tried to memorize his features, Erik grabbed her roughly by the back of the dress, pulling her back to her feet.

"Come now, it is time for you to make your vows. Perform your duty that the vicomte may live," he said. He sounded almost bored. When Christine didn't immediately turn to face him, Erik grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her so that she faced him.

"You're hurting me," Christine said. Erik didn't acknowledge her words, but rather turned to look at the vicomte.

"Are you ready to bear witness to our wedding, monsieur le vicomte?" he asked. Raoul growled angrily as Erik smiled and turned his attention back to Christine. "Ah, Christine. I must apologize that our joyous wedding day will occur underground and in front of an instrument instead of an altar, but I promise I will be a good husband to you."

Christine just sighed, looking straight ahead, seeing only his chin moving as he spoke. When she didn't reply, Erik continued. "Now, Christine Daae, do you take Erik as your husband, the only husband you shall have for the rest of your days? Who you will love, honor, and obey?"

She glanced down at Raoul, who stared up at her, horrified, as he waited for her response. She sighed deeply as she steeled herself for the words she was about to say. "I do," she said. Her voice did not shake and the fire did not die in her eyes. Erik's smile only grew.

"And I, Erik, take Christine Daae as my wife for as long as I shall live. I promise to keep you safe and bring you as much joy as you will allow me to. I will be a good husband to you, Christine, just give me the chance to prove it." His hands were shaking as he pulled the ring off of his pinky and slid it onto Christine's finger.

Christine cringed as she realized what came next. Erik stepped even closer to her, and she could feel the pressure of her body against the skirts of her wedding gown as he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her ever closer to him. Her chest was flush against his. She could feel how rapidly his heart was beating! She stole a nervous glance up at his eyes. He put on a confident facade, but his eyes told a far different story.

He was uncomfortable with how close together they were. He was afraid that she would reject him, though she'd stop him now after, at least before present company, they'd exchanged binding vows of marriage. Were she to escape and find Raoul again, she knew she could still marry him, but she didn't see how she would possibly escape.

"And now," Erik said, his voice bringing her back to reality. She looked up at him once more, and even though he still wore the mask, she couldn't help but imagine the deformities there before her as he leaned in closer. "I do believe it is customary for me to kiss my bride."

Christine squeezed her eyes shut as the man's face came ever closer, and she found just how tight of a grip the man had as his bloated, misshapen lips made contact with hers and she tried to push him away. She couldn't move even one inch as he kissed her harder, tangling his free hand in her hair and holding her head steady through his assault.

But by the time the kiss was done and he pulled away, Christine saw nothing but a sheepish, ashamed man standing before her. He'd dropped his hands and stepped two full steps back and away from her, and was glancing at her like a dog that knew it had done wrong but was hoping its owner hadn't noticed. Behind Christine, Raoul wept.


	8. Chapter 8

Christine found herself locked in her bedroom before she could even turn around to say goodbye to Raoul. Bitter tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she listened to Raoul fighting as Erik dragged him off.

"Christine!" Raoul cried as Erik forced him into the boat. Raoul could do precious little to stop what happened, his arms still bound, lasso still tight around his neck. "Christine!"

Christine found herself pounding on the door in vain, sobbing incoherently. Her strength had melted away the moment the door had been locked behind her. Those lips… She clawed at her mouth, she couldn't get the memory of how those lips felt against hers.

For a long time, she lay across the floor in front of the door. She was still, save for the occasional enormous sob that would wrack her small frame. It was only when she could hear the Phantom returning that she moved.

She didn't know what to expect, whether her new husband- she cringed at the the idea of calling him her husband- would try to take what was his now or if he would exercise that shame he'd exhibited after that shameful kiss.

She sat at her vanity and attempted to fix the matted, tangled mess that was her hair. She tried not to notice the thick welts she'd drawn up around her lips with her nails.

A soft rapping at her door caused her to quicken her already hurried attempts at cleaning herself up. She heard the lock click, saw the doorknob turn in the mirror. The door opened just a crack and Erik peered in. "Christine?" he called. His voice wavered; he sounded uncertain of himself.

"Yes, Erik?" Christine's voice was a squeak. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath as her door swung open and the man in the mask stepped into her room. A long moment passed in silence.

"Pack your things," Erik said, and Christine's heart fell. "We must be off. The vicomte may not be the brightest of men, but I do not doubt that he will be back. I neglected to blindfold him when I returned him to your dressing room."

"We're leaving?" Christine's voice was filled with sorrow. "But where-"

"Be not concerned, we will not be found."

"But what of my career at the opera house?"

"There will be other audiences and bigger companies," Erik replied.

"But-"

"You try my patience," he snarled, anger flashing in his amber eyes. Christine fell silent and nodded.


End file.
